Until The Morning
by LoyaulteMeLie
Summary: Follow up to 'Shadow of the Wolf'. A glimpse into the events during The People's version of Thanksgiving Day - rather too literal a version for the comfort of a certain ex-Starfleet Armoury Officer...
1. Malcolm 1

**Star Trek and all its intellectual property is owned by Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.**

 **This story is rated for adult content and occasional mild bad language. If these offend you, please do not read it.**

* * *

I woke early, that day.

I'd already started to become attuned to The People's habit of living by the sun – they pretty well rose with it throughout the year – but though the pale walls of the canvas overhead were still dim, I came awake quietly and completely, my mind clear and my heart already lifting with pleasurable (if slightly nervous) anticipation.

The term in their language was one that used a sound that English doesn't. Hoshi would probably have handled it easily enough, but not being a linguist I struggled, as I did with a few of their words. The best I could come up with was a half-swallowed 'Fokwoh', which caused so much general hilarity it had probably already passed into legend.

Anyway. Whatever they called it, I was going to enjoy it. I hoped.

It has to be said that the first time Jessa tried to explain it to me, it sounded a bit ... weird. Sentimental, as well as anything else. I mean, yes, back on Earth we have the same sort of thing, if rather less extreme – the Americans have a Thanksgiving Day, which is one of the few things they haven't managed (yet) to export to England; presumably we Brits would regard it as a bit 'bad form' to put aside a special day for being grateful. Not that we _aren't_ grateful ... but going around saying so? Not done, old boy. Not done at all. But as she went on, I started to see the sense in it.

Maybe living in a technological age, we've grown a bit blasé about all the wonders that surround us. Certainly on _Enterprise_ I'd lived a life of so much automated luxury by The People's standards that they would probably have regarded it as witchcraft, and I don't suppose it had ever occurred to me how much engineering had gone into ensuring that water flowed out of a tap when I passed my hand across the sensor.

It followed that having to adapt to life on the Plains had been a bit of an uphill task for me in many ways. Survival was harder, and involved a lot of work; you pay more attention to the fur you sleep on when you've had to scrape the inside of the hide clean and follow on with all the rest of a somewhat smelly business. But there was a sense of comradeship – yes, and fun – that made the hard work bearable. Especially once I'd begun to make friends, I discovered all over again that being part of a team, as opposed to the lonely man at the top giving orders, had a lot of compensations.

Not that I thought Briai was particularly lonely. For all his authority, he exercised it very gently. He certainly didn't regard himself as above mucking in with any job that needed doing, no matter how supposedly menial; he was perfectly willing to lend a hand with the necessary labour of digging a new latrine pit every now and then, which was about the most manual-labour-intensive job The People ever indulged in.

So I didn't think that this 'Thanksgiving Day' of theirs – sorry, _ours_ – would be as excruciating for him as it would be, say, for Admiral Forrest trying to socialise with lower ranks in Starfleet. But it would be interesting. Very, very interesting.

I don't think I moved. I definitely didn't say anything. But I felt the flicker of Jessa's eyelashes against my chest, and I knew she was awake.

"Is too early to get up yet," I said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."

"That is not the point of today," she answered, her voice suddenly as throaty as a wood-pigeon's, with laughter threaded into it. "Today is for appreciating everything that the whole tribe have and are, and giving thanks for it."

That sounded like an excellent idea to me. I was just getting around to being exceptionally appreciative of what I had – particularly in the furs next to me – when she evaded my exploring hands and slithered out of bed. "Come with me."

Well. That had been what I'd had in mind to begin with, but I wasn't averse to a change of venue. The People were pretty broad-minded with regard to sex, and usually nobody turned a hair if a couple happened to fancy a bit of fun out in the open air; doing the deed in the middle of the village would probably have invited its own reckoning, but a discreet wander off a little way was usually enough to evade curiosity. On a few of the warmer nights we'd slept out, and if it was true that the sight of the starry sky overhead caused me a few pangs of memory, I adored the feeling of being alone in the world with the woman I was fast coming to love.

The realisation of that last hadn't been an easy one to make. For so long I'd deliberately avoided any hint of caring about any woman I slept with. Hoshi, however, had been a friend long before we became lovers – in her case, my walls had been already breached. While as for Jessa ... how could any man, loved as I was by a woman as unique as this one, have resisted reciprocating it?

She didn't bother to dress. I took it from that that we weren't going far, because the autumn was advancing and the nights of our adventures in the Great Outdoors were probably over. It wasn't 'cold', exactly, but it was definitely getting towards 'chilly'. The People didn't seem to find it uncomfortable yet, but then they were used to living outdoors; it was probably going to be a while before I achieved the same hardiness, but this was something I was determined to do. Still, my old conditioning croaked a protest as she laid hold of the tent flap; she hadn't bothered to dress _at all._

Even in the dimness I saw the glance she slid back at me.

"This is the day for giving thanks," she said quietly. "Should I not give thanks that the Goddess made me woman?"

I hadn't quite thought of it like that. Nor that I might be expected to ... bloody hell.

She was as quick as a cat when it came to understanding my reactions, probably before I understood them myself. She let the flap fall and came back to me, cupping my face between her hands. "No-one shows gratitude by doing something that makes them uncomfortable," she said. "No-one will think less of you if you feel differently."

I'd automatically caught up my linen boxers. Slowly I loosened my fingers, and let the material fall again.

The daily use of the latrine pit, where actual privacy was not an option, had gone a long way towards teaching me the difficult art of what I called 'virtual privacy', but this wasn't quite the same thing. It was so early that it was unlikely that many – if any – people would be up and about yet, but it was still going to be ... well ... challenging.

But I'd laid claim to being one of The People. And it seemed that today, nothing would mark out my difference more plainly than to be the only one wearing clothes.

Jessa squeezed my hand as we walked to the tent flap together.

My heart was beating a little quickly as I ducked out. I don't think I'd ever been so grateful to see the empty lane outside.

It wasn't that far before dawn. In the eastern sky the clouds there were showing the first smudge of pallor.

There was a warm breeze pushing up from the south – it was pretty well a constant during this period of the year, keeping the temperatures higher than they were in the rare periods when it dropped. I was aware of the soft hush of it against my skin, which prickled with the chill of the open air relative to the shelter of the tent and the warmth of the furs.

I almost shrank back into the tent as someone turned the nearest corner and walked past. It was Cavi, the village carpenter; I knew of course that he had a twisted leg, but could now see the malformed pelvis on that side too. Nevertheless, although barred by his disability from accompanying the hunt, he was a skilled craftsman in working the bone and ivory brought back from it. His intricately worked necklaces and bracelets were, I knew, much prized as a trade item, and though he already had an apprentice I'd had thoughts of asking him to teach me the skill too. I knew I had the patience and the dexterity to do well at it, and he seemed a decent sort of bloke from the few words we'd exchanged. He was definitely among those who appeared to regard me positively, particularly after the afternoon I'd asked his permission to watch him working on fitting a new handle on an axe-head and shown both knowledge and interest in the procedure.

Now, he seemed as unaware of our undressed state as he was of his own. "Fair _Fokwoh_ to you, good people!" he called cheerfully, and spread out his hands. "Jessa, my thanks as ever for that wondrous ointment you make for me. Mal-kom, thank you for that length of braid you twisted for me last week; that stripe of red in with the black is astonishing! It is so fine I shall keep it till the God sends me an image of an ornament that deserves it. Is not the world a wonderful place, and all the people in it?" Then, without waiting for a reply, he limped on regardless, his mop of almost white-blond hair even more rumpled than usual. I heard him call out again to someone a little further on; evidently the village was not quite as deserted as I might have hoped.

"Come." Jessa took my hand again and we set off, heading towards the rise by the grazing-ground. Me, somewhat thoughtful; things were already rather different to what I'd expected. More relaxed, for one.

Hiassa was on guard duty on the rise, and gestured amiably as we passed; as he'd been there all night, it would hardly be reasonable to expect him to be naked. He seemed to find us no more interesting than usual, however, and turned his head away to keep watch over the herd, which was clearly far more important to him than the fact we had left our clothes behind in the tent.

My lover led me to the far side of the ridge, which faced east. The growing light was spreading detail on the grey expanse of the Plain, picking out the clumps of thorny bushes from which _besho_ fruits were plucked with care as they ripened. As so often happened, the dawn wind was breaking up the cloud, and chinks of paling blue spread gradually into pools and thence into lakes in which vanishing stars glittered briefly.

Having reached the place she was aiming for, Jessa sat down and then quickly lay flat. I'll admit that the expression on her face as her bare skin contacted dew-wet grass made me grin – an expression that lasted just as long as it took for her to reach up to grab my arm and pull me down beside her.

Of course I could have escaped. I knew a dozen ways to break her grip and evade my horrid fate. But I didn't. I just let myself go with it, though that didn't prevent a dozen colourful Earth expressions from doing their best to escape between my clenched teeth as the cold hit me as well.

"This is _life!_ " she said, rolling to press against me. "Feel, and give thanks!"

Well, I was feeling all right, though 'giving thanks' was a bit of an ask right then. Nevertheless, once I'd managed to stop gasping I realised she actually had a very valid point. I couldn't have named the last time I'd felt grass against my bare skin, and the wetness and chill added a whole new dimension to it.

The small sounds of ripping vegetation heralded the scattering of greenstuff on top of my belly. Jessa pulled herself up and slid across it, wriggling slowly and sensually. The heat of our bodies strengthened the scent of the crushed leaves and grass; it smelled sharp and sweet.

She placed her hands on either side of my face and looked down at me. "Thank you," she said seriously. "Thank you, my beloved, for bringing me to life."

Her mouth was warm and tasted of cinnamon from some stem or other she'd evidently just bitten. She was usually somewhat shy about taking the initiative; I think she feared to be thought 'unmaidenly', but though she began with tenderness, it wasn't long in turning into passion. And as her tongue went for my tonsils I certainly wasn't complaining about the change.

Nudity was one thing. But Hiassa was sitting his horse about ten metres away, and although there had been occasions in my past when I'd visited places where privacy was the last thing on anyone's mind, the idea of being the sole item of entertainment was still setting off all kinds of alarm bells. Admittedly he wasn't looking in our direction, but he'd only have had to turn his head...

Jessa reared up naked above me.

The women of The People tended to put on a bit of weight during the late summer, as part of their defences against a long winter. Hers had mostly gone on in the most delightful places; she was as voluptuous as a carved Hindu goddess. Her skin was scattered with bits of grass and clover. There was a crushed yellow petal just beside her bellybutton, and her brown eyes were now wide and wicked. "Is Malcolm glad he is a man?"

The cold had had its usual unfortunate effect, but the warmth of her body was rapidly reviving my inclinations, among other things. The sexy smile that spread across her face said that these developments had not gone unnoticed.

She lifted herself up.

She was Eve, she was Helen. She was the goddess of the starry skies, the goddess of the fertile earth. She was Woman Incarnate.

Malcolm of Starfleet uttered one scandalised howl as Malcolm of The People signified that yes, he was glad he was a man. And as Jessa of The People slowly impaled herself and began rocking luxuriantly back and forward, it was Malcolm of The People who watched her, loving every moment of being a man for his woman.

How long she must have waited and longed for this, for being able to rejoice like any other woman in her femininity. How terrible it must have been for her on previous days, the only woman in the tribe with no _reason_ to rejoice; rejected for reasons I still wasn't able to get my head around, but for which, in my deepest, inmost heart, I would have been selfishly, shamefully grateful, except that they had caused her pain.

As I understood this (with the remote part of me that was still able to think at all), I realised why she was completely indifferent to being watched. Far from being ashamed of her sexuality, she was – in keeping with the spirit of the day – rejoicing in it. No-one who saw would judge her for it. This was Thanksgiving Day, People-style.

What the hell. _When in Rome..._

I grabbed hold of her pelvis and went for it.

Pleasure burst over both of us like the dawn that flooded the Plain, turning her tossing red hair into a halo of fire as she put back her head and screamed out to the Mother of Mares; and as it pulsed through my body too I bellowed like Syach in answer till the sheer magnitude of the sensations reduced me to whimpering gasps of astonished ecstasy.

In odd moments I've tried, ever since, to analyse what made that day's experiences – out of so many in a life that's had its fair share of them – so incredibly special. Did I somehow tap into her psyche, in a way I've never done with any woman before or since? Was it just the day, the situation, the whole unimaginable ... event? Was there something about that day, for some unimaginable reason, that transcended mere 'human' custom; some 'otherness' that The People had somehow learned to tap into?

I'd read that some faiths regard sex as having a divine aspect. Up till then, it was a theory I'd felt free to dismiss, but even now I can't deny that I was filled with more than physical pleasure: there was wonder, joy, lightness ... for those few magical, endless seconds I felt connected not just to Jessa but to creation itself.

It ebbed, of course, leaving me spent and shuddering. Jessa was drooping over me, and I gathered her into my arms, stroking her into calm, feeling the tremors coursing through her body. "Thank you, _a chuisle mo chro_ _í_ ," I whispered breathlessly into the bright copper tangle of her hair. " _Mo mhuirnín dílis_!"

'Pulse of my heart. My faithful darling.' Gaelic endearments I'd learned so long ago from an Irish bedmate at Uni, never believing I'd have cause to use them for real. Aileen knew I'd never apply them to her, but I just loved the sound of them; maybe I had Irish ancestry somewhere, and anyway it was something to do in between banging the bedsprings. The phrases sounded so much more meaningful than the English words that were the common currency of life.

Another phrase trembled on my lips. I longed to say it. Soon, I knew I would. ' _Mo ghrá thú_." 'My love to you'. The enormity of it terrified me, even now.

She lay still for a while, planting the lightest of kisses along my collar bones; then she straightened up. The fire in her eyes slumbered; her mouth was soft with satiation. "I am the most loved, the most fortunate of women," she said quietly, placing her hand across my heart.

I needed no further prompting. I laid mine across hers in return, feeling the quick beat of it under my palm on the warm, sweat-damp skin between her full, beautiful breasts. " _Mo ghrá thú a Jessa."_

Her eyes searched mine. Quiet, trusting. She'd become accustomed to the words of my 'special language'. She never asked what they meant. I think it was enough to her to know that she was the only woman who heard them.

I loved her.

I said it to myself, and it no longer terrified me. Soon I would say it to her, in the language of The People; I'd ask someone, someone I could trust to keep my secret (Atreh probably – Bihiv couldn't keep a bloody secret like this to save his life), how to say it properly – the last thing I wanted was for my first-ever open declaration of love to come out something like 'I think you have ears like cabbages'. Then when I'd practised for a bit, and when the right time came – I wanted it to be special, wanted it to be a day she'd treasure – I'd say it to her.

Marriage? I didn't think The People had such a concept, though the idea was creeping into my thoughts lately with growing insistence. I think more than a few people were surprised that we were strictly faithful to each other; nowadays, I thought there were a few lasses who'd have opened their tent doors to me with very little encouragement, and I'm pretty sure that some of the men were having second thoughts about Jessa being unattractive. Though how anyone could have thought that of her in the first place was a mystery to me – OK, she wasn't drop-dead gorgeous in the conventional sense, but her smile lit up a tent like a lamp, and any man with eyes in his head could see she had some wonderful curves. These, of course, were only a part of what _I_ loved about her – her humour, her intelligence, and above all her courage shone out for me – but they were there all the same, and who the hell in his senses bothers about the colour of a woman's eyes when they have so many other wonderful assets to be explored?

If I mentioned marriage – if I explained the concept – what would she say? Would it be a step too far, such a huge departure from the customs of The People to whom she belonged? Would she be willing to commit to me permanently, to make promises so alien to the easy sexual freedoms of the tribe – and if she was, what would Briai say to it?

 _Hoshi._ As it still so often did, the memory stabbed me like a lance. I'd cared for Hoshi too; when I was back on _Enterprise_ it had been impossible not to realise that she'd become far dearer to me than I'd ever contemplated when I set out on our relationship. But Hoshi was lost to me, like _Enterprise_ herself and everything that belonged to that life; all I could do now was to play the hand of cards that had been dealt me by fate.

"Your eyes are sorrowful." I was sure my thoughts hadn't shown in my face, but Jessa was one of the most intuitive people I'd ever met. She claimed my eyes changed colour with my mood, and while I strenuously doubted that this had any basis in scientific fact, nevertheless she was often worryingly accurate with such statements.

I stroked her face and smiled. "I have nothing to be sorrowful for. I have shared pleasure with a wonderful, beautiful woman and I am a lucky man." If we'd been speaking English, of course, I could have been a heck of a lot more articulate, but as it was I had to stick with what I was sure of. Still, simplicity isn't always a bad thing; The People had shown me that.

She gazed at me for a moment longer, and then smiled back and kissed my nose. "We should clean ourselves, Beloved."

She was right, of course, but the inevitable encounter with the cold water in the stream wasn't one I was looking forward to. If we'd been in the tent we would have had a jar of water standing by that would have at least lost the worst of its chill overnight, but at a guess suggesting we might go back there to perform our ablutions would administer a severe knock to my He-Man Malcolm image.

Not without a few groans and shivers (passion had briefly occluded my awareness of the general temperature of a chilly autumn morning), we got ourselves up off the ground. I wasn't sure whether this was actually an improvement, as it now allowed the breeze free access to the parts of me that had been pressed to the wet turf. "I th-think we could just make this a quick wash," I gasped as a particularly playful gust brought my entire surface out in goose-pimples; it seemed I had even further to go in the matter of acclimatising than I'd thought.

Her grin made me want to slap her bum. Hard. (Though that would probably have led to me groping it as well, and I thought Hiassa had had more than enough of a floor-show for one morning. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned that Jessa had the most delectable arse.)

"We will make it a very quick wash," she chuckled.

Even now Syach had not forgiven me. This was known throughout the village, and as we began walking down the hill towards the stream Hiassa gently nudged his mount forward to keep pace with us. The slanting early sunshine brought up the distinctive fox-gleam of the stallion's coat among his mares; a lot of his offspring shared the same colouration of course, but not many had the slightly lighter tone of mane and tail – most of them were bays, a striking combination that made the colts eminently saleable. Even at a distance, however, his height and weight made him easy to pick out. Likewise, his perpetual vigilance. Sometimes I wondered whether the beast ever slept at all.

We weren't going to go that close to the herd, but I appreciated the guard's thought: there was no harm in being prepared for the worst, stallions being unpredictable at the best of times.

Syach saw the movement, of course. He moved a little closer to keep an eye on the situation, and his glare at me was unappeased. However, Hiassa saw enough to let him pull up at the foot of the rise, though he remained there, watchful.

Neither he nor I had said anything to each other. I was totally stuck for what it was appropriate to say in a situation like this, and if I'm absolutely honest I was praying to any listening deity that he'd just act as if he hadn't even _realised_ that Jessa and I had been banging like bunnies about three horse-lengths away from him.

I suppose that was an altogether too English solution to a thorny situation. At any rate, Hiessa wasn't having it. As he reined in, he finally looked at the two of us – and I mean looked, not just glanced in our general direction and pretended we were actually fully dressed and hadn't been up to anything.

He was a middle-aged chap and not – as far as I knew – overly possessed of a sense of humour. He'd always struck me as being a bit schoolmastery, surveying the world drily from beneath a thatch of greying hair that for some reason always sat flat on the top of his head, as though pressed down by an invisible cap. So I braced myself for some fairly abrasive put-down, along the lines of a _there's a_ _time and a place for everything, young man_ sort of thing.

But once again, The People surprised me.

Normally, back on Earth, having another bloke look at my woman's body – and mine – with that degree of frank admiration would have had my hackles up like a hedge. As it was, I still tensed a bit, because it was obvious that he was fully aware of her post-coital state. And thought (as any man with eyes would think) that she was sexy and beautiful and arousing. And enjoyed seeing her that way. And knew that she, in her turn, was enjoying his perception of her in that light.

Innocent? No. There was no pretence of innocence on anyone's part. But equally so, there was no offence taken or intended. There was _appreciation_ , as much aesthetic as it was sexual.

Sexy, beautiful, arousing, _mine._ It made me go all caveman-y. Me Malcolm, her Jessa. You can look all you like, mate, but keep your mitts to yourself.

"Like Uwehe and Maho, in the dawn of the world," he said quietly. "Thank you both, for showing me them walking the earth. Fair _Fokwoh_ to you, good people."

"And to you, Strength of the Tribe," she answered – a title I already knew belonged to the elders whom Briai considered to be such of a council as he needed. "For your care for The People and for your wisdom, I give thanks."

He nodded, accepting the tribute gravely, and then transferred his attention back to Syach.

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	2. Malcolm 2

As Jessa and I resumed our walk to the stream, I found myself yet again trying to comprehend the vastness of the difference in attitudes represented by what I'd just witnessed. The conflicting emotions the episode had aroused in me highlighted in unflattering relief how suspicious human beings are of each other, how ready to see the worst and react accordingly. Admittedly my career had been practically custom-designed to produce one of the most suspicious bastards on the planet, but I couldn't accuse myself of being psychologically _that_ much different from my species' base genetic profile with regard to male possessiveness. Male apes do not like other male apes eyeing up their females, and on the evolutionary time-line Homo Sapiens had hardly put a toenail out of the jungle.

Presumably evolution on this planet had produced The People by a similar process. However, I couldn't avoid the conclusion that if humans had descended from some form of chimpanzee, The People had almost certainly descended from a far more peaceably inclined species. Mountain gorillas came to mind. Definitely they had the build for it (most of them were taller than Captain Archer) and absolutely they had the temperament. Though not vegetarian, and capable hunters in a world where they could never have survived without it, they took no pleasure in inflicting pain on any living thing; this, I could understand now, was why the attack on Jessa shortly after my arrival had been so profoundly shocking to them. Lively nights in the _acha-we_ would often see wrestling bouts and even occasional fist-fights (with padded fur gloves worn), and the discovery of the fermentation process undoubtedly set free their macho playfulness, but at heart they were oddly and endearingly gentle.

It was going to take me a while to get used to it. Even longer to fit in; and probably a lot longer than that before I was able to forget, even for just a moment, that I had ever been Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

Did I _want_ to forget?

Some of me definitely did. Some of me would have liked to have been able to blot out my past forever, to wipe it out of existence. But if we were going to go with the real sense of this 'Thanksgiving Day' lark, then I couldn't – I just couldn't – avoid admitting that as well as containing some serious hell, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's life had had some bloody fabulous moments in it.

One of the earliest I could remember was the fireworks. Aunt Sherrie, bless her cotton socks, taking me and Maddie to a firework display. In Uncle Edward's car, god, I wondered was _that_ still on the road. The first time I'd ever been close enough to the launch of a mortar to feel the thump of it against my belly, to track the flight of it skywards. To appreciate the whole astonishing glory of that huge great _whoof_ of coloured stars erupting up there in the blackness.

I'm a weapons officer. Some part of me always probably will be. I love the science of explosives, the skill, the art. But in my secret heart, I admit it to myself that my passion for symmetrical explosions reaches right back to that little boy standing on an old milk crate, watching fireworks bursting against the stars...

"WHA–! FU–!"

One of Jessa's little enjoyments was catching me unawares. Naturally this didn't happen very often, me being the suspicious bastard previously alluded to. However, it appeared that my lapse into philosophical contemplation and a wander down Memory Lane to boot had provided her the ideal opportunity, of which she had not been slow to take advantage.

Icy cold stream-water was now dripping down my bare chest and belly. She was standing in the pool whose contents she had just distributed with reckless generosity down my front, and she was poised to run like hell.

 _Wise, my young Padawan. Very wise._

When she ducked down again I thought she was going for another chuck at me, and instinctively I flinched backwards. Instead, she threw the two handfuls of water straight up in the air and watched them, her face printed with the delighted horror of anticipation of it landing on herself as well.

 _O-hhhhh, yes, it_ is _cold, and you needn't think that's going to save you–_

 _Though on the other hand, bloody hell, I could look at those all day–_

 _But I'm still going to get your arse first!_

She screamed and ran away, but not nearly as fast as she could have done. After all, she had no intention whatsoever of not letting me catch her.

As ablutions go it had been a bit on the perfunctory side, but what the hell, we'd both got wet, so the technical requirements had been met, sort of. I could _definitely_ testify to have been doused right where it mattered.

She was still screaming and not running very fast when we passed Atreh. He was squatting beside a tall spire of flowers, and there was a boy of about three squatting beside him, solemnly copying his every move. My first reprehensible thought was that they'd opted for a bit of freeform defecating, but in actual fact what they were doing was watching an early bee; The People actively promoted the sowing and germination of flowers that attracted bees around the camp. Admittedly the insects could be a bit of a nuisance (there were certainly far more of them around the place than Trip Tucker for one would have appreciated), but the honey was a vital food resource, and one for which a few stings here and there were regarded as fair payment. Mostly, just like Earth bees, if you left them alone they left you alone.

I knew perfectly well that Atreh was no more of a monk than I was. I had no doubt that shagging would be up there on his agenda for the day too, and good luck to him when it happened. But it revealed another side to his character, that instead of hunting out the first open tent flap (whoops, maybe that was a bit of a two-edged expression) he was sharing this moment of wonder with a child, simply watching an ordinary bee questing from flower to flower.

While Jessa and I had been out on the ridge, it seemed that the village had been waking up. The reviving prod of anxiety about my lack of clothing began to dissipate as I saw that practically _no-one_ was wearing anything, and that as far as the old male 'competition' thing went, I was sitting soundly among the average majority. Which was comforting in itself. (I mean, no bloke would actually _dislike_ the idea of owning a todger that would enable him to go to a fancy dress party disguised as one of those old-fashioned petrol pumps, but it's bragging rights over practicality, isn't it? No point having an extra thirty centimetres you can't fit _in_ anywhere _._ )

There was, indeed, a fair amount of 'fitting in' going on, and I will admit that when I realised that children were not being sat blindfolded in a corner with their hands over their ears, it freaked me out a bit. But then the truth hit me that these kids presumably saw this kind of thing happening regularly in their own family tents; it was unlikely in the extreme that The People were believers in 'No, not till the kids are asleep', still less 'Well OK, but make sure the blankets don't slip and for god's sake keep it quiet.' The children were pursuing their own normal pursuits, occasionally pausing interestedly if something particularly noisy happened, but certainly not seeming at all alarmed or surprised; free to learn that all this was perfectly normal and natural and that when they were old enough it would be like anything else adults did, that they too would do. It was inevitable that there was a bit of copying, but children copy anything they see adults doing. By the time they were old enough to grasp that there was more to it than bouncing up and down on someone else's belly, no doubt the appropriate wisdom would also have been absorbed from their elders.

Well, yes. It _was_ weird. And I felt a bit awkward, intrusive. After all, I knew these people; they weren't anonymous bodies that I could – as I'd done in my old life – objectify, and thereby keep safely at a distance. It was about on a par with walking into _Enterprise_ 's Mess Hall and finding an orgy in full swing. I mean, I'm not saying part of me wouldn't have been thrilled if it had ever happened (the part of me that would have immediately started thumbing frantically through the Regulations to find out if it was specifically forbidden for the Head of Security to participate if he didn't happen to be on duty at the time), but the big issue would have been AFTERWARDS.

Jessa slowed to a walk, allowing me to catch up and slip my arms around her; revenge could wait, though she needn't think I wouldn't get her back eventually. Nuzzling her neck was a bit of a distraction, though being human, I looked around as well. A bit covertly at first – human conditioning at work again.

Bihiv was lying entwined with a pretty girl his own age, and seemed to have finished for the moment. His lips wandered dreamily down her breastbone, his eyes all but closed. He whispered endearments.

Briai was taking Tyanna. His face was serious, his movements steady and gentle. Even through the evident pleasure, there was desperation in the way her body clasped his: _Give me a child, please, give me a child._

I looked away. Even though she was probably long past caring, seeing that terrible yearning as clearly as I did was horrible; I was glad that he'd taken her a little way aside, so that she could feel involved without too great a show of how many men she'd probably beg for the same gift. Even if it went on past the point of any pleasure, she'd have accepted any pain if it had brought her a child. Even I had learned something by now of her awful history of miscarriages.

I doubt whether any of the tribe were indifferent to her plight. But excluding her would have been one more curse on top of her barrenness, and including her – well, I imagine that the prayers in more than one tent that night pleaded with the Horse Goddess to have mercy at last.

Being one of The People, Jessa also looked. Openly, though her gaze like mine flicked away with pain from Tyanna. Evidently felt free to comment, too, on happier cases; and some damned earthy comments they were, the ones I could understand (my vocabulary in some matters was still somewhat limited). But on all sides, as well as the more basic sounds, there was a common thread: communication. Praise. Encouragement. Delight. Humour. Not only the body but the heart was being fed, the _tribe itself_ was being fed. Once I realised this, I knew that it was light years away from anything I'd ever witnessed or participated in. It was life-giving, life-affirming. It was something I wanted to belong to. Something I wanted to be part of.

I knew I wasn't up for a repeat performance just yet, though it was a working certainty that the organs concerned were cranking up their act as fast as they could. But this was about thanksgiving, and I could spend a very happy few minutes in the meantime making my woman give thanks that her man knew what to do with his tongue.

Once, in the period of my misspent youth where I actually 'dated' girls, I'd been coaxed into going to the cinema (much against my better judgement) to see some dreadful old romantic thing called _An Officer and a Gentleman._ Though it was hardly my sort of thing, being woefully short on explosions, I hadn't missed the effect it had had on the ladies in the audience. As one, they'd drawn an enchanted breath as the hero hoisted his lady love in his arms and marched out of some grotty factory or other with her, a caveman in every detail except for the immaculately pressed white uniform and equally immaculate hairstyle. While I (and, presumably, every other utterly outclassed male in the place) had glowered jealously at the screen, telling myself that Richard Whatsisname was a poncy overdressed bastard and probably had a dick the size of a pickled gherkin.

Life had been miserably parsimonious in offering me opportunities for hoisting any lovelorn lady in my arms and marching her out of a grotty factory en route to demonstrating that my dick bore no resemblance whatsoever to a pickled gherkin. And there wasn't a cat in hell's chance that the plot of _An Officer and a Gentleman_ could ever have found its way in any form whatsoever to this small and unimportant village on the Great Plains. But I still caught that delighted, indrawn breath as I finally got to do the hoisting bit, and yes: it was bloody music to my ears. After all these years, I was finally getting to play the hero.

I didn't march very far. As far as the nearest softish-looking patch of grass, actually. Well, I didn't want her to be uncomfortable when she was writhing about yelling.

I deposited her in Position A.

I'm not _totally_ lacking in finesse. There's a lot of delight to be had in kissing, and I wasn't going to miss out on that; the joy shining in her face as she looked up at me was an absolute picture. Nor was I going to avoid the equal delights to be had when I started moving south. I took my time over those, too.

The earthy comments were coming in our direction now.

 _Thanks, love, admire it while you can still see it._

 _She is, isn't she, mate? Hotter than hell. And she's MINE,_ _until she says so._

 _It's really nice that the women have these pretty trails of dapply spots that go down either side of the groin. I think they look really sexy, like constellations pointing the way to heaven._

 _I bet none of you have ever noticed that one of these here looks just like an upside-down heart. Just one. On the left side. Just at a nice elevation, so I can admire it while I'm busy._

 _I don't think I'll ever look at an upside-down heart in quite the same way again._

Now and again, people wandered over for a closer look, admiring, enjoying. Nobody touched. I already knew that wasn't done, not without invitation. And there weren't going to be any invitations from us.

If I say so myself, I'm bloody good. She shouted so loud at one point that even one of the goats bolted.

However.

There's a time for everything, and my time was coming nicely near, yes please and thank you.

I inspected the upside-down heart for a few more minutes, while Jessa yowled a bit more. Some thoughtful soul put a folded-up blanket under the back of her head to stop her hurting it banging it up and down on the ground so much.

Yes.

That. Will. Do. Nicely.

My timing was impeccable. She was just in the middle of another rendition of Don't You Dare Stop Now at full volume when I interrupted delivery.

God, I'd thought Em had a foul mouth when she got going. I hardly spoke a word of invective in this language and I still knew I was getting both barrels.

However. I was sure she'd find my alternative plans just as satisfying. I introduced the topic into her grip and watched the insane glitter of interrupted orgasm dissolve like melting honey into this look of pure anticipation.

Admittedly I hadn't quite anticipated her next move, and there were a few laughs and cheers as the crown of her coppery head slid down past my navel. A few eye-rolling minutes passed while I tried very hard to remember that such a thing as warp field calculus tables existed, but in all honesty even such fascinating topics as these couldn't keep me from the reflection that she had a mouth hotter than the ship's warp core and was fast catching me up in the expertise-with-a-tongue stakes.

There was one of my favourite positions I hadn't introduced into our repertoire yet, and in front of an audience possibly wasn't the best time to go experimenting. But I love it, and I was sure she would too, once she'd got the hang of it.

Reluctantly ending her ministrations before they pushed me past the rapidly impending point of no return, I sat down, and pulled up her forward across me. She expected me to lie back, and got this puzzled, impatient little play-pout when I didn't.

"No. Just sit down."

A certain amount of adjustment was necessary. Followed immediately by a few seconds during which I ran frantically through a _particularly knotty_ piece of warp field calculus that I'd saved for emergencies.

Happily this succeeded in averting a crisis.

When the captain was once more in command on the Bridge (as opposed to screaming down the comm to Engineering to take the warp engine offline _this instant_ ), he organised his trusty crew-woman's heels into position behind his arse, planted for leverage. Then he arranged his own to the same good effect, and finally got his hands on what he now knew for certain was the prettiest bum in the village.

" _Mo ghrá thú a Jessa,"_ I whispered, for her ears only. "Now. Try."

It was wonderful, watching and feeling her get the hang of it. It's such a lovely position, where both of you can give and take, and almost every shift of weight or slight alteration of angle brings fresh waves of sensation. It takes a while to get used to, the first time, though, and it doesn't deliver the direct, immediate stimulation she'd been so noisily enjoying a few minutes ago.

I adored watching her concentrate. She looked like a frowning kitten. I just stayed quiet, letting her get comfortable and learn how to get the benefits of this new set of circumstances.

 _Aha._ The frown cleared. She licked her lips just once.

I felt the inside muscles of her thighs engage, and braced to counter it. It would take a few tries to learn this part of it too.

The brush of her nipples against my chest was intoxicating.

She caught on faster than I'd expected. We only lost the rhythm twice, and then she settled into it. Driving hard, bracing for my return stroke. Lifting. Settling. Learning how to rotate her pelvis and stretch her thighs wider to let me in. Arching backwards, howling; pulling upwards to glare at me in the ferocity of her need.

Fuck, she was so lovely. Fuck, this was just amazing. Fuck, I couldn't hold it any more. "Jessa," I panted, and the words that followed spilled out in English, because once again the world had narrowed down to the raw white lightning that now erupted in my groin, and there wasn't a prayer I could have got the Gaelic said even in the unlikely event I could have remembered it. " _Jessa, I love you. Jessa, Jessa – oh God, Jessa, Jesus Christ–"_

Somewhere outside the vortex of mindless pleasure that now swallowed both of us, I could hear gasping, "A child – give me a child..."

As the pieces of my consciousness whizzed away in all directions, one of them said _I hope Tyanna gets lucky today.  
_


	3. Jessa

He looks so peaceful, sleeping. It smoothes away from his face the lines of sadness and care that have marked it beyond his years. He does not look boyish – he is too emphatically a man for that – but I glimpse how he might have appeared, had what must have been a life of burdens been easier.

It has caused me a little concern that he fainted this morning, but the Healer in me said when it happened that _it is just that he has worked hard without breaking his fast_ , and sure enough he came around in hardly a moment and seemed no worse than slightly dazed.

We retired to our tent to take food. It is not a work day; as with every year, preparations have been made for it so that almost no work has to be done, save to tend the animals that need it. Everyone is free to relax – to talk and laugh and make love. And, of course, give thanks, to each other and to the Gods who have so blessed us.

When he has rested a while we will go to the _acha-we_ and rejoin the others. There will be eating and drinking, board games and Telling of Tales. Items of special beauty will be passed around from hand to hand for comment and admiration. Maybe there will be music; I love music. If there is, maybe he will consent to sing. He has a good singing voice, though not near as good even as Bihiv's of course; and Ragor the Singer will listen carefully as always, along with everyone else, committing these strange songs of a far-off people to the living memory of the tribe. And Makia is not here, so I need not be constantly looking over my shoulder – not that I fear her any more, or have cause to. Malcolm is mine, and I am his; what, save the common ailments and risks of daily life, need I fear?

He was more tired than hungry. I took back the bread and ale I had fetched for him, and said that he should sleep for a while first; which I think he was glad enough to do, though he kissed me lingeringly, and once more called me those love-words whose sounds are engraved on my spirit like the holy words of The People which only those in the Sacred Cave are permitted to read. Even the new one he revealed to me only this morning, which I will commit and treasure along with the rest.

I do not know what they mean. Doubtless they are sacred among his people, and I am content that he would reveal their meanings to me if it was permitted. I should not seek to know, and at any rate it is all the world to me that it is I to whom he speaks them – I, and no other woman of The People, who is so blessed.

My body is quiet, but I do not feel like sleeping or even eating. When he wakes will be soon enough for us both to eat, trading bites and kisses and drinking from the same cup. Instead I sit and watch him rest, holding one of his hands which are so skilled and gentle in the arts of love, and hardly daring to breathe for the hope that has now entered my heart.

Healers have always debated exactly what it is during man-and-woman pleasure that draws out the man's spirit to give life to the waiting child, and whether it is the woman's spirit that decides which among many is chosen. But whose spirit other than _his_ would mine choose, even if it were one among a thousand to choose between? And surely the very deeps of him rang in answer to me, this day of all days...

In all the times we have made love I have never felt so close to him as I have done today. Never felt that truly, truly we were one flesh, so that a voice I had hardly known for mine had cried out the deepest wish of my heart. And never before had his spirit left its body at the peak of his pleasure.

Who knows where it might have gone?

I have not heard of such a thing among our own people, it is true. But who knows what the customs of his own people are? Who knows, save he, what invocations to his powerful gods those holy words contain?

I press my free hand to my belly. In the quiet I too pray, fervently, desperately, to the Mother of Mares and even to Lord Bracu that a sign was granted to me. I will seek out the special herbs, for me as well as for Tyanna; I will rest as much as possible, I will not even ride Arach. Until – or unless – the red blood flows again...

Careful not to disturb his slumbers, I lean over and slip my hand into my clothes-chest. Lying atop the neatly-folded garments within, as though waiting for my touch, is a leather thong, and the stone that it carries already feels warm to my touch. I lift it out and kiss it. She has granted me so much already, far beyond my deserving; am I asking too much, for this last and greatest happiness to be granted us?

His hand twitches. He is dreaming.

And I too will dream.

Until the morning.

 **The End.**


End file.
